No Other Way
by jacksparrow589
Summary: When going on is all we can do, we summon courage from the most surprising places. Set during the end, as it were, of Roy's apprenticeship. Royai hints. Romance/Hurt/Comfort


**No Other Way**

**Summary: When going on is all we can do, we summon courage from the most surprising places. Set during the end, as it were, of Roy's apprenticeship. Royai hints. Romance/Hurt/Comfort**

**A/N: I took the liberty of pretending that Havoc and Riza lived in the same town.**

**Also, this was inspired by Pearl Jam's "The End", which I put on repeat as I wrote this. I highly suggest listening to it while you read this.**

"Father!"

This is Riza as I've never heard her before: choked, panicky… _helpless_.

I lay Mr. Hawkeye's body on the floor—no, not just his body; he's still alive, but only barely.

And he won't survive.

"Father!" Riza takes his hand. "Roy, call a doctor!"

I hurry to do so.

From the next room, I can hear Riza talking to her father, trying desperately not to lose him.

I reappear just in time to hear his last words to her: "I'm sorry, Riza… I'm… sorr…"

And he's gone.

"Papa…" Riza whimpers, then the tears start to fall. _"Papa!"_

I kneel next to her, but what can I do? Alchemy can't bring the dead back to life—everyone knows that. I put a hand on Riza's shoulder as she begins to go to pieces over her father's body.

It takes everything I have not to do the same. "I'm so sorry, Riza."

Without letting go of her father's hand, she turns and buries her head in my shoulder. I put my arms around her, comforting her as I would a child, and while it would have been an insult any other time, it's what she needs, and it's all I can do.

* * *

A few days later, a day after the graveside service, I find her thumbing through old pictures. Her eyes are rimmed with scarlet, as they have been ever since…

But she's smiling a little.

I walk over and pick up the stack she's just finished. The top photograph is of Mr. Hawkeye asleep in a rocking chair, holding a sleeping baby Riza to his chest.

The next is probably from a few minutes after that. The sun's angle hasn't changed much, but Riza is clearly wailing, and her father is slowly coming out of his slumber, looking a bit confused, a bit annoyed, but ready to face whatever he has to for his daughter.

It goes on like that, then no pictures until Riza is old enough to go to school. Her hair is chin-length in this one. She looks about six and smiles shyly for the camera, just wide enough to see that she's missing a couple teeth.

These stacks seem to have been taken in fits and bursts. Some of them, Riza took of her father, but most are of Riza, though there are more than a few with both as subjects. I wonder who the photographer was…

Then there are the ones I remember: a few with the two of us studying at the kitchen table, one with us asleep on the porch swing, a few of us actually making some sort of meal, several of Riza, myself, and Havoc at various times of the year, a couple of us looking out the window at the rain or curled up by the fire, and three or four from the only snowball fight Riza and I ever had.

There are a few pictures of Mr. Hawkeye and me taken by Riza, a few of just me, and a few I've snagged of Riza and her father, as well.

"It's not fair," I say quietly.

"I know," Riza agrees softly. "But it can't be helped. People come and people go, and we just treasure them for as long as they're in our lives."

"Wow," is all I can say.

Riza smiles a little.

"_I'm_ here," I remind her.

"You're wearing a military uniform, Roy. Don't try to tell me that you'll be here much longer."

"I can apply for extended leave—"

"Don't," she orders. "You have to go. Go, and make that dream of yours come true. I'll be fine."

She has me there.

But I won't lose. I clear my throat and stand up a little straighter, but make eye contact with Riza. "I'm still here now," I point out.

"I know," she says simply. "But when your leave is up, you'll have to go. I can't hold you back."

It's hopeless. I start in on a new stack of pictures. But silently, I protest, _I'm here!_

It kills me to acknowledge the other little part of me that retorts nastily, _But not much longer…_

**A/N: The pictures described are of my own imagination, but the ones about the porch swing and the snowball fight are special—they refer respectively to events from drabbles 47 ("In the dead of the night") and 85 ("Surprise Attack") from my Royai 100 themes collection.**

**As for Riza calling her father "Papa", I call my dad "Daddy" or something similar when I'm concerned. Mr. Hawkeye is **_**dying**_**—do you really think she'd remain that stoic about it in the moment?**


End file.
